


Thinking of a Color: Orange

by impertinence



Category: Gym Class Heroes
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-08
Updated: 2009-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-04 06:58:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinence/pseuds/impertinence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet from a larger superheroes AU. Travis draws and things come to life.Ficlet from a larger superheroes AU. Travis draws and things come to life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking of a Color: Orange

It never started off working well, was what he had to explain to everyone: it wasn't natural. You'd think that much would be obvious, but for some reason, everyone from military wonks right on down to his best friends assumed - at first - that he'd rolled right into being Powered like a limo rolled up at the Oscars.

But nothing had ever been that easy for him, and his power was no exception.

Travis frowned and ran his thumb over the line he'd just drawn, smudging it a little. This had to be even more perfect than usual - not photo-perfect, but perfect-perfect. This wasn't just him dicking around and drawing a rose so he'd have something to give his girl or a bug to put in Disashi's bed. This was something for Pete, who -

Alright, who wasn't actually more important than his girl or Matt or Sashi. But he was still important, and besides, he wasn't just drawing a bug or a flower. He was drawing an animal.

It was lumpy and ugly at first. Travis wasn't a natural artist, and left on his own he'd rather write and travel, not sit in front of a fucking canvas like a wannabe Picasso. But his power had been hanging around for almost two decades and he knew by now it wasn't going anywhere. With that knowledge in mind, he'd gone to art school a few years ago. Now, at least, could draw recognizable shit. Pete probably wouldn't care if his dog was a little lumpy anyway.

He colored it brown and gave it big, ugly eyes. Pete liked pretty things, which was why Travis was making this dog as ugly as possible. That way, Pete wouldn't decide one day that it wasn't as cute as it had been and try to foist it back on Travis. Dude was crazy like that.

When he was almost done, he set the canvas on the floor to dry. Its tail was going to be crooked; Pete would like that.

And of course just when he thought that, his phone buzzed with a call from Pete. Think of the devil. "Yeah?"

"Hey, man, are you stoned right now?"

"Am I ever not?"

"Good question," Pete said. "Look, I need a favor."

"Shoot."

"Can you just...get DeJesus to bring you out here?"

"You are the neediest motherfucker I've ever met."

"I'm also the most powerful."

"Whatever you say, Magneto. You want me to spend the night?"

Pete hummed a little. "Well, _I_ do."

But Patrick might get jealous and try to kick his ass - or worse, plot years of terrifying revenge. "Got it. I'll just hang out for a few hours."

"It's not as bad as last time, I'm just -"

"Cool it. You don't have to give me an explanation."

"You don't feel like you deserve one?"

There was a lot he could say to that and most of it was completely fucking douchey. Instead of saying something he knew he'd regret he said, "Someday the walls are going to come crashing down for me, and then it'll be your turn to bamf over here and comfort my sorry ass. Until then, I'm here when you need me. You fucking know that."

He more than knew Pete well enough to picture him silent on the other end, making faces at the phone because he had no clue what else to do. "Whatever," Pete said finally. "You're totally just doing this because you don't want me and Patrick to kick you off Decaydance."

"I'd draw you hanging from a tree," Travis said, grinning. "I'll see you in a few."

"Thanks," Pete said - a little too loudly, a little too rushed. A little too sincere, basically.

"De fucking nada," Travis said, and hung up before he could embarrass himself more.

He passed Disashi on the way out of the bus. "I'm going to hang with Pete for a few hours."

"Again?" Sashi shook his head. "Doesn't he have a therapist?"

"He could have five and it probably wouldn't help," Travis said. "Whatever, like you give a shit. Have fun jerking off."

The kid Travis met would've blushed at that, but now Disashi just grinned and twisted his hand.

DeJesus was more than happy to teleport him to Pete; the guy practically lived for chances to teleport now that the new bamf laws, written to lift most of the bullshit paranoid restrictions on teleporters, had been passed. Pete must have felt them coming (though how that worked, Travis wasn't even sure he wanted to know), because he was leaning against the tree they appeared in front of.

"Thanks, man," Travis said.

"Nothing to it," DeJesus said, and bamf'd back out again.

"Hi," Pete said. He looked pretty fucked up - not as bad as Travis on a bender, or even as bad as Travis had ever seen Pete, but it was obvious his head wasn't doing him too many favors.

"Hey," Travis said, and held out an arm. Pete moved in for a hug. "What's going on?"

"The chip," Pete said slowly, like he was forcing the words out. "It's working less and less."

Travis felt a chill go down his spine. "Shit, man."

Pete nodded. "I haven't really told anyone. Patrick..."

Patrick was younger than Pete, protective as fuck, and knew exactly what Pete could do. The guy could burn the world to a fucking cinder, if he wanted, but he was a blip on the government's radar compared to Pete. Fire could be contained. Psychics really couldn't. "Would flip out."

"Worse than that, probably. He'd tell me to get the chip repaired."

"I should tell you that too."

"It's a part of me. You know how it is, we - Powered people - we can't just shut it off."

"The government can. They could make things quiet again."

"Fuck you," Pete said, voice completely free of inflection.

Travis moved away from the hug and sat down on the grass. "Even if I swung that way, I wouldn't want to ruin our beautiful relationship."

Pete lay down, his head perpendicular to Travis's ass. "I've thought about dying."

Jesus, he didn't want to know the answer to the question he was about to ask. "Killing yourself?"

"Maybe. But I've heard people going. They kind of fade out." Pete paused, picking at a loose flap of skin on the side of his fingernail. "Most of them are scared."

"Shut that shit _down_," Travis said, more harshly than he really meant to.

"You think I wouldn't if I could? Without a fucking chip, anyway."

"Medicine -"

"The voices just come in dreams instead." Pete smiled bitterly. "Believe me, it's worse."

He had no fucking clue what to say. Everything wasn't about Pete, no matter how much he might want to try to make it; at the same time, in the realm of super-cool scary Powered people, Pete was pretty much top of the list. "Sorry," he said finally.

Pete snorted. "That was weak, man."

"Once more, with feeling: I'm not your fucking shrink."

"Very true."

There was nothing there for Travis to discuss or pick apart or even respond to, so he didn't. He'd brought his old GameBoy with him, so he pulled it out and started to play while Pete pulled blades of grass out of the ground, one by one.

"Did you hear about that chick in St. Louis?" Pete said after awhile. "She's got some kind of psychic connection to plants."

"Plants can't think, can they?"

"If they can, I can't hear them. But she fucking pets them and they grow five times as fast. She used it to win a pumpkin-growing contest."

Travis snorted. "Powered people are just as dumb as other people sometimes, I guess."

"But can you imagine? If I had that power I wouldn't use it to grow pumpkins."

Travis knew Pete didn't have him out here because he wouldn't cut Pete slack, but he also knew that _Pete_ knew Travis wouldn't cut him slack. "People might say the same thing about you and your pop band."

"You sound like my grandma." Pete sighed. "So what's going on with you?"

"New censor," Travis said, tapping the scar on his hand. He was doing his best to forget it even existed, but Pete was a big fan of hearing about other people's problems.

"Upgrade?"

Travis snorted. "How should I know? They just gave me the same lecture they always do. Blah blah blah, electron burst, blah blah blah, the recoil will kill you if you make anything too big, blah blah blah, we're always watching."

"How big is 'too big', exactly?"

When Travis was ten he'd drawn an entire forest and had only felt a little sleepy for an hour afterwards. "Who knows, man? It might even be a myth. The electron thing, too, I don't know fucking details about that shit."

That was a lie, which Pete was probably picking up on; Travis could've gotten a doctorate in what exactly the censor in his hand was built to do. But he only cared to the extent that he had to be careful to never draw a live Uzi, and he didn't really feel like explaining it right then.

"It's bullshit, what they do to us."

"I don't know. If they didn't, maybe some criminals would draw bombs, or a ten-year-old would draw a velociraptor. It's a dangerous power to have."

"Powered people are just people. Most of us -"

"But it's not about most of us, it's about the crazy people. The criminals and vigilantes. They're the Powered nuts the government goes after."

Travis didn't miss much; be in a touring band for long enough and you couldn't afford to. He saw the way Pete stiffened. "Yeah," Pete said, "totally. The crazy people."

If Pete was getting himself mixed up in - in what? He wasn't a criminal. So in vigilantism, which Travis could see Gabe doing, no problem, since the fucker was old as the hills and thought he knew everything. "You get into trouble, fucking tell me," Travis said.

"Like I could avoid it," Pete said bitterly.

It wasn't cold out, but the grass was wet; as Travis got Mario from Level One to Level Six, he felt his pants get colder and damper. Pete gave in first, sitting up. "I should go back," he said. "But thanks, man."

"I don't know why you always want me around when you're like this," Travis said. He stood up and offered Pete his hand. "But, you know, you're welcome."

"I'm not going to maybe make out with you," Pete said. "Which is more than I can say for Patrick."

Travis shook his head. He wasn't sure which one of them he felt sorrier for. "Take care of yourself," he said, texting _rdy_ to DeJesus.

Pete nodded and headed back to the parking lot where the buses all sat. He'd already hopped the fence by the time DeJesus appeared in front of Travis. "Grab my hand," DeJesus said, and bamf'd them back to the Gym Class bus.

Matt was lying in wake when Travis got back on - literally, since he was cramped out in Travis's bed. "You're a fucking creep, anyone ever told you that?" Travis said.

"When are you going to cut it out with him?" Matt said.

Travis shook his head. "Don't pretend you don't know the answer to that."

"He's a fucking drain, Travi. Nothing good is ever going to come out of there."

"You like him."

"You know what I mean. When he's upset. You're forgetting I've seen him like that, too."

"Someone's still got to be there."

"Patrick -"

"Isn't that someone, because they're all, you know. There's a lot of tension there."

"It's still not healthy for you to be his mood booster."

"You know what's also not healthy? For you to be in my bed." Travis grabbed his ankle. "Out."

Matt didn't budge. "Why is that unhealthy?"

"My girlfriend and I have sex in there."

"I like sex."

"I fart in here. Get your ass up."

"Farts dissipate."

"Get the fuck _out_ of my bed," Travis said, and rolled him onto the floor.

Matt got up laughing. "You are too fucking easy, man."

The problem with hanging out with Pete, even when he was busy being all manic depressive, was that Travis tended to regress till all he wanted to do was stick his tongue out at Matt. It was pretty sad. "Whatever," Travis said, folding himself into his bunk. "Do me a favor and get DeJesus to bamf you straight to the fucking Antarctic."

Instead of doing what he asked, Matt shook his head and leaned down to tuck Travis's blankets over him. It was like having another mom, for God's sake. "Go to sleep," Matt said. "I heard you banging around last night."

"I was just getting it on with your mom. You know how it is."

Matt laughed, flipped him the bird, and left.

Travis lay awake for awhile afterwards, turning events over in his head. Pete's smartass comments had made him remember shit he'd rather not think about - the first time the censor went in, mostly, but also growing up knowing he'd have to learn to draw well and being terrified that he'd draw something too big. It was an urban legend, like the fucking vigilantes or the one about firestarters spontaneously combusting in their sleep: if he wasn't careful, he'd draw something that would need way too much of his own energy, and the electron pulse that the censor was built to pick up on would draw too much from him and kill him on the spot. Supposedly some Arab guy had done it once with an atomic bomb. Maybe the government was telling the truth; maybe they were just lying about it being what they wanted to call a terrorist. Travis didn't really care. The worry was still with him, every fucking day.

And Christ, now the inside of his own head was starting to look like Pete's. That was never a good sign. He closed his eyes and willed himself asleep, fingers twitching a little in spite of himself; drawing might not've been the first thing he wanted to do, but it was in him more than anything else.

He dreamed of capes - but he wasn't a precog. If it was a sign, it was the kind created by his own worries.It never started off working well, was what he had to explain to everyone: it wasn't natural. You'd think that much would be obvious, but for some reason, everyone from military wonks right on down to his best friends assumed - at first - that he'd rolled right into being Powered like a limo rolled up at the Oscars.

But nothing had ever been that easy for him, and his power was no exception.

Travis frowned and ran his thumb over the line he'd just drawn, smudging it a little. This had to be even more perfect than usual - not photo-perfect, but perfect-perfect. This wasn't just him dicking around and drawing a rose so he'd have something to give his girl or a bug to put in Disashi's bed. This was something for Pete, who -

Alright, who wasn't actually more important than his girl or Matt or Sashi. But he was still important, and besides, he wasn't just drawing a bug or a flower. He was drawing an animal.

It was lumpy and ugly at first. Travis wasn't a natural artist, and left on his own he'd rather write and travel, not sit in front of a fucking canvas like a wannabe Picasso. But his power had been hanging around for almost two decades and he knew by now it wasn't going anywhere. With that knowledge in mind, he'd gone to art school a few years ago. Now, at least, could draw recognizable shit. Pete probably wouldn't care if his dog was a little lumpy anyway.

He colored it brown and gave it big, ugly eyes. Pete liked pretty things, which was why Travis was making this dog as ugly as possible. That way, Pete wouldn't decide one day that it wasn't as cute as it had been and try to foist it back on Travis. Dude was crazy like that.

When he was almost done, he set the canvas on the floor to dry. Its tail was going to be crooked; Pete would like that.

And of course just when he thought that, his phone buzzed with a call from Pete. Think of the devil. "Yeah?"

"Hey, man, are you stoned right now?"

"Am I ever not?"

"Good question," Pete said. "Look, I need a favor."

"Shoot."

"Can you just...get DeJesus to bring you out here?"

"You are the neediest motherfucker I've ever met."

"I'm also the most powerful."

"Whatever you say, Magneto. You want me to spend the night?"

Pete hummed a little. "Well, _I_ do."

But Patrick might get jealous and try to kick his ass - or worse, plot years of terrifying revenge. "Got it. I'll just hang out for a few hours."

"It's not as bad as last time, I'm just -"

"Cool it. You don't have to give me an explanation."

"You don't feel like you deserve one?"

There was a lot he could say to that and most of it was completely fucking douchey. Instead of saying something he knew he'd regret he said, "Someday the walls are going to come crashing down for me, and then it'll be your turn to bamf over here and comfort my sorry ass. Until then, I'm here when you need me. You fucking know that."

He more than knew Pete well enough to picture him silent on the other end, making faces at the phone because he had no clue what else to do. "Whatever," Pete said finally. "You're totally just doing this because you don't want me and Patrick to kick you off Decaydance."

"I'd draw you hanging from a tree," Travis said, grinning. "I'll see you in a few."

"Thanks," Pete said - a little too loudly, a little too rushed. A little too sincere, basically.

"De fucking nada," Travis said, and hung up before he could embarrass himself more.

He passed Disashi on the way out of the bus. "I'm going to hang with Pete for a few hours."

"Again?" Sashi shook his head. "Doesn't he have a therapist?"

"He could have five and it probably wouldn't help," Travis said. "Whatever, like you give a shit. Have fun jerking off."

The kid Travis met would've blushed at that, but now Disashi just grinned and twisted his hand.

DeJesus was more than happy to teleport him to Pete; the guy practically lived for chances to teleport now that the new bamf laws, written to lift most of the bullshit paranoid restrictions on teleporters, had been passed. Pete must have felt them coming (though how that worked, Travis wasn't even sure he wanted to know), because he was leaning against the tree they appeared in front of.

"Thanks, man," Travis said.

"Nothing to it," DeJesus said, and bamf'd back out again.

"Hi," Pete said. He looked pretty fucked up - not as bad as Travis on a bender, or even as bad as Travis had ever seen Pete, but it was obvious his head wasn't doing him too many favors.

"Hey," Travis said, and held out an arm. Pete moved in for a hug. "What's going on?"

"The chip," Pete said slowly, like he was forcing the words out. "It's working less and less."

Travis felt a chill go down his spine. "Shit, man."

Pete nodded. "I haven't really told anyone. Patrick..."

Patrick was younger than Pete, protective as fuck, and knew exactly what Pete could do. The guy could burn the world to a fucking cinder, if he wanted, but he was a blip on the government's radar compared to Pete. Fire could be contained. Psychics really couldn't. "Would flip out."

"Worse than that, probably. He'd tell me to get the chip repaired."

"I should tell you that too."

"It's a part of me. You know how it is, we - Powered people - we can't just shut it off."

"The government can. They could make things quiet again."

"Fuck you," Pete said, voice completely free of inflection.

Travis moved away from the hug and sat down on the grass. "Even if I swung that way, I wouldn't want to ruin our beautiful relationship."

Pete lay down, his head perpendicular to Travis's ass. "I've thought about dying."

Jesus, he didn't want to know the answer to the question he was about to ask. "Killing yourself?"

"Maybe. But I've heard people going. They kind of fade out." Pete paused, picking at a loose flap of skin on the side of his fingernail. "Most of them are scared."

"Shut that shit _down_," Travis said, more harshly than he really meant to.

"You think I wouldn't if I could? Without a fucking chip, anyway."

"Medicine -"

"The voices just come in dreams instead." Pete smiled bitterly. "Believe me, it's worse."

He had no fucking clue what to say. Everything wasn't about Pete, no matter how much he might want to try to make it; at the same time, in the realm of super-cool scary Powered people, Pete was pretty much top of the list. "Sorry," he said finally.

Pete snorted. "That was weak, man."

"Once more, with feeling: I'm not your fucking shrink."

"Very true."

There was nothing there for Travis to discuss or pick apart or even respond to, so he didn't. He'd brought his old GameBoy with him, so he pulled it out and started to play while Pete pulled blades of grass out of the ground, one by one.

"Did you hear about that chick in St. Louis?" Pete said after awhile. "She's got some kind of psychic connection to plants."

"Plants can't think, can they?"

"If they can, I can't hear them. But she fucking pets them and they grow five times as fast. She used it to win a pumpkin-growing contest."

Travis snorted. "Powered people are just as dumb as other people sometimes, I guess."

"But can you imagine? If I had that power I wouldn't use it to grow pumpkins."

Travis knew Pete didn't have him out here because he wouldn't cut Pete slack, but he also knew that _Pete_ knew Travis wouldn't cut him slack. "People might say the same thing about you and your pop band."

"You sound like my grandma." Pete sighed. "So what's going on with you?"

"New censor," Travis said, tapping the scar on his hand. He was doing his best to forget it even existed, but Pete was a big fan of hearing about other people's problems.

"Upgrade?"

Travis snorted. "How should I know? They just gave me the same lecture they always do. Blah blah blah, electron burst, blah blah blah, the recoil will kill you if you make anything too big, blah blah blah, we're always watching."

"How big is 'too big', exactly?"

When Travis was ten he'd drawn an entire forest and had only felt a little sleepy for an hour afterwards. "Who knows, man? It might even be a myth. The electron thing, too, I don't know fucking details about that shit."

That was a lie, which Pete was probably picking up on; Travis could've gotten a doctorate in what exactly the censor in his hand was built to do. But he only cared to the extent that he had to be careful to never draw a live Uzi, and he didn't really feel like explaining it right then.

"It's bullshit, what they do to us."

"I don't know. If they didn't, maybe some criminals would draw bombs, or a ten-year-old would draw a velociraptor. It's a dangerous power to have."

"Powered people are just people. Most of us -"

"But it's not about most of us, it's about the crazy people. The criminals and vigilantes. They're the Powered nuts the government goes after."

Travis didn't miss much; be in a touring band for long enough and you couldn't afford to. He saw the way Pete stiffened. "Yeah," Pete said, "totally. The crazy people."

If Pete was getting himself mixed up in - in what? He wasn't a criminal. So in vigilantism, which Travis could see Gabe doing, no problem, since the fucker was old as the hills and thought he knew everything. "You get into trouble, fucking tell me," Travis said.

"Like I could avoid it," Pete said bitterly.

It wasn't cold out, but the grass was wet; as Travis got Mario from Level One to Level Six, he felt his pants get colder and damper. Pete gave in first, sitting up. "I should go back," he said. "But thanks, man."

"I don't know why you always want me around when you're like this," Travis said. He stood up and offered Pete his hand. "But, you know, you're welcome."

"I'm not going to maybe make out with you," Pete said. "Which is more than I can say for Patrick."

Travis shook his head. He wasn't sure which one of them he felt sorrier for. "Take care of yourself," he said, texting _rdy_ to DeJesus.

Pete nodded and headed back to the parking lot where the buses all sat. He'd already hopped the fence by the time DeJesus appeared in front of Travis. "Grab my hand," DeJesus said, and bamf'd them back to the Gym Class bus.

Matt was lying in wake when Travis got back on - literally, since he was cramped out in Travis's bed. "You're a fucking creep, anyone ever told you that?" Travis said.

"When are you going to cut it out with him?" Matt said.

Travis shook his head. "Don't pretend you don't know the answer to that."

"He's a fucking drain, Travi. Nothing good is ever going to come out of there."

"You like him."

"You know what I mean. When he's upset. You're forgetting I've seen him like that, too."

"Someone's still got to be there."

"Patrick -"

"Isn't that someone, because they're all, you know. There's a lot of tension there."

"It's still not healthy for you to be his mood booster."

"You know what's also not healthy? For you to be in my bed." Travis grabbed his ankle. "Out."

Matt didn't budge. "Why is that unhealthy?"

"My girlfriend and I have sex in there."

"I like sex."

"I fart in here. Get your ass up."

"Farts dissipate."

"Get the fuck _out_ of my bed," Travis said, and rolled him onto the floor.

Matt got up laughing. "You are too fucking easy, man."

The problem with hanging out with Pete, even when he was busy being all manic depressive, was that Travis tended to regress till all he wanted to do was stick his tongue out at Matt. It was pretty sad. "Whatever," Travis said, folding himself into his bunk. "Do me a favor and get DeJesus to bamf you straight to the fucking Antarctic."

Instead of doing what he asked, Matt shook his head and leaned down to tuck Travis's blankets over him. It was like having another mom, for God's sake. "Go to sleep," Matt said. "I heard you banging around last night."

"I was just getting it on with your mom. You know how it is."

Matt laughed, flipped him the bird, and left.

Travis lay awake for awhile afterwards, turning events over in his head. Pete's smartass comments had made him remember shit he'd rather not think about - the first time the censor went in, mostly, but also growing up knowing he'd have to learn to draw well and being terrified that he'd draw something too big. It was an urban legend, like the fucking vigilantes or the one about firestarters spontaneously combusting in their sleep: if he wasn't careful, he'd draw something that would need way too much of his own energy, and the electron pulse that the censor was built to pick up on would draw too much from him and kill him on the spot. Supposedly some Arab guy had done it once with an atomic bomb. Maybe the government was telling the truth; maybe they were just lying about it being what they wanted to call a terrorist. Travis didn't really care. The worry was still with him, every fucking day.

And Christ, now the inside of his own head was starting to look like Pete's. That was never a good sign. He closed his eyes and willed himself asleep, fingers twitching a little in spite of himself; drawing might not've been the first thing he wanted to do, but it was in him more than anything else.

He dreamed of capes - but he wasn't a precog. If it was a sign, it was the kind created by his own worries.


End file.
